


Kinktober 2: 2 Fast, 2 Kinky

by thebananahasspoken



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: 2 fast 2 kinky, Aftercare, Anal, Biting, Blind Reader, Blood, Body Worship, Bondage, Cannibalism, Casual Sex, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Domination, Established Relationship, F/M, Fingering, Gore, Humiliation, JC Pennys, Love, Mirror Sex, NSFW, Oral, Painplay, Polyamory, Public Sex, Punishment, Romance, Souls, Spanking, Star-crossed, Teasing, Underfell, Violence, dance, kinks incoming, kinktober 2, overweight reader, past Frans, public fondling, reapertale, shaming, underswap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebananahasspoken/pseuds/thebananahasspoken
Summary: The return of Kinktober. It's time to fuck some skeletons, folks.





	1. Spanking

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(K)inktober](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238460) by [thebananahasspoken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebananahasspoken/pseuds/thebananahasspoken). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans has some law to lay down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumbr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the amazing fanart that gets shown to me!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> The first Kinktober!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8238460/chapters/18880264

*Underfell*

* * *

“well ain'tcha jus’ tha prettiest picture.”

You’d known Sans had come back long before he announced himself, his tendency to slam doors and kick his shoes at the nearest wall more than enough to signal his entrance to your shared house. He had clattered around the living room grumping to himself about the coffee table (probably because he bumped into it again) as well, throwing his keys somewhere he’d probably forget by morning and turning on the television, before seeming to notice your marked absence and coming to look for you.

He’d been leaning in the kitchen doorway for almost five minutes now, just watching you putter around with a lazy, goofy grin on his skeletal face, and you’d let him think you hadn’t seen him, dusting flour from your palms onto your apron and ducking into the fridge to fetch the eggs and making a show of finding the non-stick spray in the cupboard.

You knew how much he liked to watch you bake, a song on your lips and a dance lilting in your soul, and left him to it.

His making himself known brought an end to the faux, intimate silence, and you gave a false, tiny gasp as you looked to him, a hand to your heart and eyes playfully coquettish.

“Oh! Hi baby! I was making cinnamon rolls, did you wanna help?” you offered, holding up your mixing bowl with a bright grin, and he raised his scarlet, glowing irises from your short, frilly skirt and up to meet your smile with one of his own, tinted with gold and sharp fangs and joviality.

He strode into the kitchen with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, at ease and humming with contented pride (you knew how, oddly, the domestic life suited him; he didn’t seem the type, with his gruff, rough and tumble exterior, but the certainty and stability of his life with you made him happier than anything else ever had), to sidle up behind you, pelvis pressing against your backside and hands settling on your waist, light and gentle.

His skull nudged against the side of your head, the fall of your hair.

“heh… my kinda help ain’t what you’re lookin’ for, sweetheart. ya won’t be gettin’ much done. you keep twirlin’ your sexy self around. i‘ma do my crossword,” he murmured against your ear, swaying in time with you to the quiet tune on the portable radio, and met your kiss when you turned your head to press your lips to his jaw, coaxing your lips apart to drink you in.

You whined when he pulled away a moment later, pulling at his cable-knit sweater sleeve to try to keep him there, but he only chuckled, pushing one last kiss to your neck and making his way to the table to sit down with his newspaper.

“ya know i’m useless wit’ bakin’ anythin’ but myself, starshine. you let me know if ya need any more extra sugar, though,” he insinuated with a wink, shaking out the pages of the paper, and settled into solve his puzzle, completely content to spend time in your company right where he was.

That wasn’t what you wanted, though.

You sighed quietly, pulling at the skirt of your unusually short dress and huffing indignantly. You were trying to come on to him, for gods’ sakes! For a monster that usually ended up having his way with you at least twice a day, he was remarkably thick when it came to your own flirtations.

You’d just have to be a little more obvious, you supposed with a wicked glint to your smile.

“Okay, honey bun,” you piped happily, and turned back to what you were doing, mixing the thick batter for the rolls with a wooden spoon and humming along with your little kitchen radio.

This time, though… you added some flair.

You didn’t just taste the mix, to ensure the proper flavor, you _moaned_ at the taste _._ You didn’t just dance to your music, you swayed your hips enticingly, beckoningly. You didn’t just glance at him, to see if he was watching you slide the rolls into the oven (he was, catching on to your little show at last), you sent him a heated, come-hither look from under your lashes.

The last straw was licking the wooden spoon clean, with more than a little torturous precision.

Sans had completely forgotten his newspaper by then, sitting back in his chair and watching you with a knowing smirk, and let out a soft, lustful growl when you only licked slower, his magic crackling in his sockets, only moments from flaring to life.

“now that is just’ fuckin’ _naughty_. you’re bein’ a real bad girl…” he purred, tapping a claw on the tabletop and dragging his magical gaze down your reclining frame, almost physical in its intensity, and you only leered back at him, flicking the tip of your tongue over the curve of the spoon before licking batter from your lips.

Heat spiked in your blood simply from the way his irises dilated at the motion.

“Punish me then,” you prompted, arching a brow in challenge and glorying in the thickness of the air between you, the pounding of your heart and the lust burning in your abdomen, and Sans, grin spreading across his face like a fanged crag, slid himself from his chair with the grace of a hunting predator, the intent of a beast in heat.

“oh, i intend ta, babe.”

He was on you a second later, pushing you back against the edge of the counter with his hard, bony body and capturing your lips with his; his tongue sprung into existence as it slid into your mouth, and his hands clutched you against him feverishly. He stole your breath away, leaving you lightheaded and adrift on the feel of his sorcerous breath, and you clung to him when he pulled from your lips, your knees weak and your gaze fuzzy.

How he managed to do that, every time, you would never know.

You could tell he was proud of the state he had left you in, your mouth smeared with your mixed saliva and your scent filling his head. He looked ravenous, panting more than a little himself and flushed with desire and caressing the strip of flesh your bunched, wrinkled shirt had bared to his hands.

He certainly hadn’t forgotten your game, though, despite his distraction, and bent to smirk at you with fiery, salacious need; with one hand, he squeezed your hip, and with the other, he plucked the clean, damp wooden spoon from your grasp.

“now bend your fine ass over tha counter,” he snarled under his breath, a command you couldn’t wait to follow, and stole one final kiss before letting you turn in his grasp, stepping back far enough to get himself a good view as you obeyed and prostrated yourself to him.

Sans’ hand slid seductively along your side to cup your posterior, squeezing and caressing… before he flipped your frilly skirt up, baring your ass and the evidence that you had been planning to distract and seduce him all along.

He let out a rough, strident chuckle at the sight of you, his lust clear in his deep, rolling tone and his flickering sockets, and traced the curve of your ass with the tip of the wooden spoon, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine and making your knees quiver.

“oh ho… a _very_ bad girl. a'ight… jus’ makes this easier,” he rasped, squeezing one hip while, with a cruel, teasing snicker, he lightly smacked your ass with the spoon, and it was all you could do not to gasp aloud, your core clenching and your teeth biting into your lower lip.

You squirmed, breathing heavily through your nose and waiting, waiting with bated breath for the next slap.

He didn’t give it though, merely stroking the slightly reddened spot with the bowl of the spoon and leering down at you. You would have whined, petulant and impatient for more ( _gods_ , you loved the games you played, when he got aggressive and heavy handed…), but he didn’t intend to leave you waiting long, more than eager to go on himself.

He loved giving just as much as you liked receiving, after all.

“you count 'em out for me, baby doll. ya lose count, we’re jus’ gonna start again. we clear?” he commanded on a gusting exhalation of greedy lasciviousness, shifting his stance and taking a moment to adjust his arousal in his pants, and you moaned eagerly, arching your hips to give him a better view… more to work with.

“Y-yes… crystal…” you whimpered, tense and needy, and Sans grinned broadly at that, replacing his hand on your hip to hold you in place, and, without warning or hesitation, swiped the spoon across your ass, a loud smack and a haltering cry of exquisite pain echoing through the kitchen. It left behind a much darker mark than his first swat, and the skeleton monster, admiring his work even as he raised the implement of your punishment again, chuckled sinisterly beneath his breath, sparing you a single, meaningful glance.

“you’d better, for your ass’ sake.”

You counted as best you could as the improvised paddle came down again, and again, and again, sending the pleasurable sting of your humiliation and domination straight to your clenching core, but it seemed almost like he was trying to throw you off on purpose. He deliberately muttered dirty insinuations and filthy, underhanded compliments to you as you struggled to remember where you were and focus on anything but the wetness dribbling down the insides of your thighs, and ended up losing your place twice.

He was more than willing to make good on his threat, too, starting over from the very beginning, and once you reached the end of the third set, knuckles white from clutching at the counter and legs trembling and face nearly as flushed as your posterior surely was, you could think of nothing but reaching that final number, simply so you could sink your fingers between your legs and fuck yourself to the orgasm that dangled just beyond your reach.

One last swat, gentler than the rest (or perhaps it only seemed that way; your skin was numbing just the tiniest bit), and you wailed at the feeling before falling forward onto the counter completely, all the strength leaving your arms.

“Twe… mmm… twenty…” you gasped, gaze fuzzy and breath catching in your throat, and Sans, more than a little aroused himself (the fly on his shorts looked about ready to split, scarlet drool dripping from his parted fangs and the tip of his undulating tongue darting across the tips of his fangs distractedly), threw the spoon into the sink and cupped your enflamed, whealed ass with both hands, kneading gently and grinning hungrily.

“mmm… i fuckin’ love that…” he growled, squeezing your sensitive, reddened flesh eagerly, and you turned your head to look up at his from under lowered, fluttering lashes, whining under your breath and squirming at his attentions.

Somewhere in the background, a timer started to go off, but neither of you paid it any mind.

“W-what?” you queried with a needy warble, squealing when he pinched you on purpose, and his slobber laced grin only grew, his sockets focused entirely on you, how you bent before him and how delectable you looked, thoroughly punished and so. damn. _h_ _orny_.

“how red your gorgeous ass gets after a good spankin’… how much it turns ya on,” he cooed lecherously, sliding an exploring hand between your legs and, thanks to your plentiful arousal, easily slipping his middle two phalanges into your entrance, immediately arching them to stroke your g-spot.

Your back arched, a cry of exultant rapture spilling from your lips… but a moment later, an even louder alarm rang through the kitchen, again announcing that your baking was completed.

You blinked, a modicum of your lust fueled torpor vanishing enough to relay the information that your rolls were done, and you struggled to sit up from the counter, looking to the oven and, within, cursing it’s bad timing (you had been having such a good time, too…).

Sans wasn’t interested in letting you go, though, and grasped at the back of your neck to press you back against the counter, his fingers pulling from your sloppily wet pussy to fumble with the buckle of his belt.

“ah ah… your punishment ain’t over yet.”

You breath hitched, excitement and ardor rushing again through your veins as the sound of his zipper lowering mixed with yet another blaring alarm, already putting aside the urgency to save tomorrow’s breakfast in favor of getting your needy core stuffed. You made one last, lame protest, though, not even really trying.

“B-but the cinnamon rolls…”

He grunted dismissively, as anticipated, and shoved his shorts to his knees, palming his cock and squeezing the back of your neck domineeringly.

“fuck 'em. heh… we got some other sin ta roll in,” he snarked, though his voice was shaky and distracted as he stepped up behind you and rolled the turgid head of his dick through your wetness, and you keened wantonly around an exasperated sigh, instantly spreading your legs and inviting him in despite the joke.

Honestly, you were used to them by now. They weren’t going to keep you from getting down.

“Okay baby. Just make it quick, I don’t want the house filled with smoke,” you chided, and he barked out a laugh, pushing himself into you inch by inch, with exquisite, heady slowness.

“your wish is mah command.”

He didn’t make it fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, and hope you enjoy the month ahead!


	2. Dirty Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turnabout is fair play, Papy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumbr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the amazing fanart that gets shown to me!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> The first Kinktober!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8238460/chapters/18880264

*Underswap*

* * *

“Papyrus, _no_.”

Your exasperated sigh was hushed, muttered from behind the cover of the wine menu, your eyes lowered as you pretended to read the list of white wines available. You were really sending covert, admonishing glances at the tall, lanky skeleton across the booth from you, who was currently lounging in his seat, one faded orange sneaker tapping the top of the table as he shot spitwads at the ceiling of the private room you two had gotten.

You should have known better than to take him to such a fancy restaurant.

Papyrus had an incredible amount of disdain for rules and regulation, especially when it came to annoying people that had annoyed him first, and the waiter had given both of you such obviously disdainful treatment for your boyfriend's species and his apparel that the petty, offended skeleton monster couldn't help but want to make things harder for the asshole.

You didn't mind that, though. You hadn't minded the backhanded, snide jokes, the changing of his order, the deliberate difficulty of his meal. You had encouraged it, in fact, just as offended as he had been. If you hadn't spent actual money on the reservation, you would have already told him to take you somewhere else.

But this could get you kicked out, and you definitely wanted to get your money's worth for having to be here. You'd gotten dressed up and all, in a lovely purple little number, and even managed to talk Papyrus into wearing his tuxedo t-shirt.

You at least wanted to make it to dessert before you were booted out the door. You'd ordered the tiramisu. Fantastic stuff.

Papyrus, from his seat across the table from you, shot another wad from his straw at the ceiling fixture, and snickered to himself when it landed with a quiet splat and stuck to the clouded glass. He knocked the toe of his other high top against your high heel under the table at the same moment, sending you a lazy, carefree smile and a wink that still, despite the time you two had been dating, sent your heart fluttering.

“c'mon, honey, why not? no one'll notice... not until we're already done and out of here,” he assured you, stroking your ankle gently and reaching for another already wetted wad of napkin (he'd filled one of his many rejected margaritas with one earlier, and had been tearing pieces off at his leisure).

You huffed at his summation, sending a glance at the doorway to the main restaurant timidly, before shooting him a glare, setting the menu down, and hiding your frown behind your nearly empty glass (that waiter wasn't getting _anything_ as a tip, screw him).

“Because we're not supposed to, that's why! We're gonna get kicked out!” you whispered harshly, pulling your foot away from his to pettily discourage his game of footsie, and he rolled the soft white pinpricks of light floating in his sockets in dismissal, raising a bony brow and rolling his selected wad of napkin into a ball, the straw dangling from between his teeth bouncing idly.

“don't be a wimp, babe. he's not gonna kick us out; if he tries, his manager is gonna find out just how much of a prick he was to us. let it go... let's have some fun...” he encouraged smoothly, voice as sly and challenging as his teasing grin, and you had to look away to avoid giving in. He always got his way, getting himself out of trouble and into pretty much everyone's good graces with an easy shrug, a sideways smile, and a well timed joke.

Not tonight. You always let him win, but _not_ tonight.

You folded your arms across your chest in testament to your resolution, sniffing and turning your nose up, and he tutted before sighing and pulling the straw from between his teeth.

“alright, sourpuss... i'll make it worth your while,” he offered, twirling the slightly chewed straw between his phalanges and smirking in just _that_ way that always made you think of temptation and twisted bedsheets and carnality, and your interest was instantly piqued, heat blooming in your cheeks and gaze immediately leaping back to your bony lover.

Papyrus was a gambling kind of monster, and very few things made him happier than winning a game of chance. He had fantastic luck, thankfully (even if sometimes he “made his own luck” with his magic), so it had never gotten him in trouble, but it did end up making many of your agreements based on odds...

And made one of his favorite games you played in the bedroom one of betting. Sometimes you won, sometimes he did, but it always ended well. A prime sort of play, you felt, so you never complained.

You were always willing to front a losing bet for a blowjob.

“...Yeah?” you prompted, trying not to show too much interest but failing spectacularly (you kind of wished you had worn a bra tonight now...), and Papyrus, humming in thought, tapped the end of his straw against his jaw before grinning broadly and gesturing to your own straw, unused as you'd gotten a glass of wine.

“whoever gets the most to stick to the roof picks the movie tonight,” he proposed, bony brows lowering in challenge, and it took you a moment and two very slow blinks to understand that he wasn't in fact offering some unknown position, but just your night's entertainment.

That took the wind right out of your sails, and visibly set you back, embarrassment and foolhardiness rushing to turn your cheeks even redder. You idly picked at the remnants of your alfredo to cover your slightly disappointment, clearing your throat perhaps more than necessary.

“O-oh... well, I mean...” you stumbled, fumbling to pick up the conversation in the direction that he had been taking it (of course he wasn't going to offer sex in here, what had you been thinking...), but Papyrus, always the observant one, cocked his skull to the side at your out of character behavior, looking you over with a slow sweep of his gaze before meeting your eyes.

“hmm... had something else in mind?” he queried in a quiet, honey sweet purr, dropping the straw he had been twiddling to lean his chin on his palm, long fingers curled and gaze narrowed in avid awareness.

His smirk was slow, knowing, and incredibly telling as it spread across his skull.

“like i even need to ask.”

He slid himself with deliberate slowness from his seat to round the table and scoot in beside you, holding your gaze the entire time. You scooted over to give him room with bated breath, your blood heating and your eyes wide, wondering, wondering, what he had in store.

You honestly never knew with him. He could be intending to do anything from kiss you senseless to shoving his hand under your dress.

Once settled, the lanky monster chuckled to himself at your blush, his sockets sparking with tangerine magic, just begging to be summoned, and bent over your form, bringing his face inches from yours, his hand ghosting over your bare arm.

You could smell the lime from his drink on his breath, the alcohol and the salt.

“bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? havin' some playtime out in public... getting down where someone else could catch us,” he murmured, waggling a brow bone suggestively, and traced the very tips of his fingers over your shoulder, sending shivers through your whole body and a gasp tumbling from your lips.

You arched towards him, parted lips begging for a kiss, but he only grinned, leaning back just far enough to keep you apart, and went on, ticking his practically ethereal touch along the curve of your breast, the fullness of your ribcage. He sent a meaningful look back towards the rest of the restaurant, to the sounds of dining and chatter, before looking back to you, sin and mischief in his gaze.

“wouldn't mister high and mighty be so disgusted, seeing a monster feeling up such a pretty human... and seeing her squirming while he did...” he breathed across your lips, tracing his light hand over the narrow of your waist, the flare of your hip, and you _whimpered_ , shifting in your seat as the heat in your blood coalesced between your thighs, your panties flush with arousal at just the sound of his smooth tenor, his wanton offers.

Damn him... _damn_ him, he was too good at this...

He was only growing more conceited as he scented your interest, as he watched you melt under his attentions, and dragged his knuckles, feather light, along the length of your thigh, shifting to press his bony lips to the shell of your ear, bared by your fancy updo.

“bet you want me to drag you to the bathroom and make those tile walls _shake_. bet you want it against the door, so everyone can hear the dirty little monster fucker taking it like a **whore**. good acoustics, bathrooms. they would _all_ hear you screaming for my cock.”

You moaned out loud at that, muffled only by your own hand jumping to cover your mouth, and his grin was so broad, so crooked and self-satisfied, that you were sure his skull would split if it grew even another centimeter. His venturing hand finally settled, alighting on your bare knee, and the shudder that shook you at the full contact made another snicker break from him, his magic activating to allow the tip of his tongue to trace the lobe of your ear, hot and wet and  _ gods _ ...

“look at you. you're a mess already, and i've barely even _touched_ you,” he muttered, biting teasingly at your earlobe as well, and you jumped in surprise, whining and grasping at his hand to try to pull it higher up your thigh, under your dress, up to your breasts, _something_.

“Papy... Papy, _please_...” you begged under your breath, fidgeting and breathless with desire, and he huffed, pulling away from your ear to look you in the eye with superiority and no small amount of pride in your condition.

“please what, huh? you want something? use your words, sugar...” he crooned, bending to bite teasingly at your lower lip, flicking the tip of his fluorescent orange tongue against yours before leaning back and meeting your gaze ravenously.

“tell me how bad you want me to fuck you in the middle of a restaurant.”

You shivered, keening needily and chasing his bony lips and obeying immediately, no shame nor concern for being observed in your motions. You could think of nothing but him touching you, speaking more honeyed words of rapture and wickedness in your ear.

“Please... I do... please, I want you so bad...” you whimpered, curling your fingers into the hem of his t-shirt and around his wrist, and his gaze narrowed, his magic flashing and his grin sharpening. You were playing straight into his hand, just how you had promised you wouldn't, but you couldn't help it, not when he was so close...

When his fingers on your knee were sneaking under your skirt...

“well now... begging and everything. but i don't think i will. i think i want you to touch yourself. get yourself off for me, right here,” he commanded, high on his power over you and deliberately removing his hand from your knee, and his demand punctured your stupor like a pin to a water balloon, spilling cool shock through your whole body.

Oh... so he wanted to play  _that_ kind of game, did he?

Vengeful reciprocation filled you in the wake of Papyrus' flirtations, his dangling of your desire before you, and you smiled, within, because you knew him well enough to know when he was bluffing, no matter how good his poker face was.

He didn't expect you to do as he said at all. He expected you to chicken out so he could mock you all the way home. He expected you to cool off, play (and lose) his game, have your dessert, and watch Pineapple Express  _again_ .

Not gonna happen, bone boy.

So, instead of answering to the newly returned shame begging you not to do what you were considering, you instead firmed your resolve, threw one of your legs over his, and dipped one of your hands under the skirt of your dress, holding his gaze the whole time.

The look on Papyrus' face was  _priceless_ .

His superiority fled in an instant, his jaw dropping and his sockets widening as his gaze dropped to follow the path of your hand, to look on as you fumbled a moment with pulling your panties to the side under the cover of the table top.

Now it was his turn to flush, his cheekbones dusted with his orange magic and his breath, strident and shocked, to catch in his hollow chest.

“...fucking hell, babe, are you really gonna...” he spluttered, caught in an odd moment of disbelief and unsteadiness and surging lust, but you barely acknowledged him, tilting your head back and sliding your middle finger into your sopping folds with a short, quiet gasp.

“I-I don't bluff, Papyrusss... _oohh_...” you moaned, spreading your legs further and sliding a second finger into yourself as you started up a slow, rolling pace, biting at your lower lip as part of the show, and Papyrus, stock still and, if you weren't mistaken, rattling just a little, clutched a large hand on the thigh your had thrown over his femur, glancing passingly at the doorway of the room before, flush with magic and arousal, he watched you work rapturously.

His jaw worked idly, but no sound came out, seeming to be forcedly mute in his sheer arousal and surprise, so you spoke for him, whining and hissing in pleasure and occasionally groping at your breasts.

“I wish it was you... I wish it was your fingers in my pussy... aahh! I'm so wet for you, so hot...” you purred to him as you fucked yourself for his viewing pleasure, your skirt sliding further up your thighs the longer you did so, and the lanky skeleton monster, at last, sucked in a deep breath, his whole body shuddering.

His free hand lowered to grope at the front of his slacks, tented and glowing against the khaki material.

“oh my fucking stars... honey, _damn_...” he moaned, watching your every motion with an avidity you only saw in him when in the middle of Street Fighter match, and so, with a flourish, you flipped your dress the rest of the way over your thrusting hand, spreading your folds and humming needily.

“I wish you could feel how much I want you... dripping with need... gods, I'm so close... ohh, _Papy_...” you keened for him, but got no further. A moment later, your dress was yanked back down, a kiss was smothered to your lips (“you win, baby... stars damn me, you _win_...”), and Papyrus was out of his seat and gathering up your coat.

“check please!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I am taking suggestions for scenarios again this year! Send me your sins, your greatest desires...


	3. Public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans lets it all hang out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumbr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
>  http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the amazing fanart that gets shown to me!  
>  http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> The first Kinktober!  
>  http://archiveofourown.org/works/8238460/chapters/18880264

*Undertale*

* * *

You probably should have been worried about things other than splinters, honestly.

The royal guard, perhaps. Seeing a human out and about while most of the monster race was looking for their last human soul would probably be detrimental to your health. Likely, the monster you were with would be able to buy you a few minutes, but they wouldn’t forget seeing you. Definitely a danger, a risk you couldn’t afford to take.

Frostbite was another thing, very real and impending. Body heat had a way of nullifying that, you supposed… but the frigid air of the perpetually snowy Snowdin wood wasn’t necessarily being kind to you.

You didn’t suppose you had a reputation to upkeep, so that wasn’t really a worry.

Huh. Maybe a condom would have been a good idea. Could a monster carry STDs or get you pregnant? You honestly didn’t know, and had an inkling it would have been smart to ask him about that first before dropping trou for the, what, hundredth time, but hey… spilled milk and all that.

You honestly weren’t all that interested in telling the monster fucking you over the top of his sentry station to stop, and he didn’t seem inclined to stopping anytime soon either.

Your body jolted forward against the edge of the wooden stand again, shaking you out of your thoughts, and a haggard moan escaped your lips at the same moment as a fogged breath, your gloved hands scrabbling at the top of the station and your knees shaking.

Your monstrous lover, phalanges digging into your bare hips and pace never faltering, let out a shuddering chuckle at that, and pulled you back into his rampant thrusts eagerly, bending over your back to lay his ribcage, partially bared by his rolled up t-shirt, against your back.

“heh… didn’t i pa-tell-a you that i’d make your legs quake?” he grunted against the back of your neck, rutting against you like an animal, and you wailed as the thickness of his cock, his miraculous, mysterious, magical dick, sank further into you, barely able to pay attention to the pun in favor of approaching your second orgasm.

“Yes… yes you did… gods, _please_ , fuck me…” you moaned into the wind, into the grain of the sentry station, and Sans, breathing just as hard as you, groaned in response, grinding his pelvis against your ass and clutching your hips bruisingly hard.

“keep tellin’ ya i’m not a god, but _fuck_ , if you don’t make me feel like one,” he panted, snaking the phalanges of one hand between your legs to, with now practiced ease, rub circles around your clit, and you came nearly immediately around his pistoning length, shrieking and crying out in absolute bliss as he fucked you through your orgasm.

The cold seemed to be keeping you on edge, your pleasure only mounting again in a mountainous rush, and climaxed again when he reached his end, the feeling of his magic spilling into you sending you careening over the edge once more.

He remained collapsed on top of you for a long moment afterward, panting for breath and caressing your hips, before pulling back and fixing his clothes, seating himself on his three-legged stool to watch, unabashedly, as you did the same.

“well. that was refreshing… nothing like a bit of exercise in the morning,” he murmured, grinning broadly at the stain already spreading down the leg of your jeans, and you scowled at him as you righted your coat, flushed and shaky.

“Sex is the most you’ve ever exercised,” you accused, and he shrugged, pulling out his cell phone and very obviously setting a new photo to his background.

“can’t say i didn’t put my back into it, though,” he dismissed with a wink, his grin just a little crooked, and you circled him to see what he was smirking to himself about.

You’d have snatched the phone out of his hand if he weren’t so fast at running.

“Sans the skeleton, delete that right _now,”_ you shouted when he reappeared ten feet up a pine tree, but he just smiled and shook his head, snickering to himself.

“couldn’t be assed, babe. can’t really see the harm that’d cum from it, anyway… no one gets into my phone butt me.”

You nearly shrieked in frustration, throwing your arms up in the air and stomping off back towards town.

“That’s the last time you’ll ever see it, too!”

Sans, from his perch, only chuckled, looking one last time at his new background, and the neon blue magic spattered on the delectable ass on display there, before flashing back down to the path to watch you saunter off.

Stars, he hated to see you go… but oh, how he loved to watch you walk away.

“somehow i doubt that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	4. Begging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans knows your mind, your deepest desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
>  http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the amazing fanart that gets shown to me!  
>  http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> The first Kinktober!  
>  http://archiveofourown.org/works/8238460/chapters/18880264

*Reapertale*

* * *

You knew he was there long before he showed himself. Long before he deigned to speak, long before he gave evidence of his coming.

It was his way, of course. The bringer of the endless night walked in darkness, had given birth to the end of days and the deepest shadows and the spaces between the stars. He owned the blackest pit, and bestowed sleep eternal with the touch of his hand.

He couldn’t stop how the light shied from him, though.

The candles always flickered low, the torches guttered, the incense always petered out, when he walked the earth and the halls of his temple. You made no mention of it, when he rose to the mortal realm and graced his followers with his presence. It was his right, to find peace and keep his silence if he wished. This was his place of worship… his house of veneration, rare and sparse, in the day and age where men had gained the courage to question gods and their whimsical affairs.

There weren’t many followers of the Underworld any longer… it was held in silent regard, hushed respect, but not veneration. The offerings were fewer and fewer every year, the pilgrims gaunt and far between. His blessings, just as absent. He was a busy god, of course. Little time to spare for one of his two priestesses.

And yet, instead of visiting the star oasis, or the Shrouded Mirror, or even the offering chamber, he lingered, as ever, in the darkness at the corners of your humble bower, listening to your prayers and watching your rituals.

You weren’t all that surprised that he had come to you, in the end, though.

Death had been your friend, your shadow, from the very beginning.

He had come for your soul more times that you could count, long before your memory began. You knew it to be true; there was something about him, the scent of nightshade and evening dew and turned earth, that pressed at your mind, lingered in your dreams. Your luck had never allowed for anything but the worst of fates, after all.

Being born blind in a world of people meant to live under the sun deprived you of a great deal of things like the luxury of luck.

The Temple of Night had been the only place you were ever welcomed, not cast out and stoned for your disability, your curse from birth. They didn’t care that you had no sight there; what did you need it for, in the darkness of the abyss? The gods that ruled within those walls blessed those that relied on things other than their sight.

What you saw could tell you lies. By closing your eyes, and opening your mind, you could see the truth, and in that regard, you were blessed indeed. Already so pure, so at one with the dark. 

You would be welcome there.

And so you’d become an acolyte to the gods of Death, to the patrons of the lost soul and the forsaken. You had found a home, time for your road weary feet to heal and your scars to fade. The patrons were kind. The priests doting and caring. You’d never had a home, a family…

And yet you dared to ask for more.

You were so selfish, in your prayers to your dark deities. They had brought you a place to rest your head, safety from the storm and assurance of what would come after death. Few were as fortunate. And still you begged, at the gods’ alter, for your sight.

You wanted to see the stars, the grass, the sea as it rolled against the cliffs. You wanted to know the faces of your friends, the gods you worshiped. You wanted it all.

So many of your other prayers were answered. For the nearby village to be spared the vengeance of the swelling river. For the frostbitten child to keep her toes. For the long, cruel winter to cease and allow spring to begin anew. But though you cried, and begged, and promised away your very _soul_ , your sight was never restored.

Instead, _he_ came.

It was a miracle, the priests had said, for a god to grace their temple. He brought boons, great plenty and health to those that followed him. The nights were short and warm, with his blessing. He never showed himself to the others but in dreams, visions of assurance and praise… but to you, he spoke himself.

To you, he gave without quarter.

Perhaps it was _because_ you were blind he revealed himself to you, appearing from the shadows of your small room at whim and will. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t see his fearsome visage (the others were in awe of he and his brother, the dread holders of the Keys to the Gates Beyond, terrible and monstrous) that he sat upon your windowsill and told you of things no mortal should know.

You certainly couldn’t touch his face to “see” him. He had forbidden you coming near him right off the bat.

“not for my safety, priestess. for yours. my touch would rob you of what life you have left. i wouldn’t see it ended so soon.”

For whatever reason, you ended up hosting one of the gods themselves in your tiny bedroom on a regular basis. He would tell you tales of heroes, the world beyond. He spoke of the surface, the stars, colors and vistas you could only dream of.

He never said why he had come, why he left his palace below to perch on the humble stool of a meansless worshiper.

He only talked, and sometimes listened. He only sat and watched, and you never asked why.

Not even when he began to speak of other things, like loneliness and love. Not even when he began to bring you gifts, flowers gilt in what could only be gold and stones with sharp edges and smooth surfaces. He asked what you desired, above all. Anything you wished… but the one thing he could not give.

You knew of what he spoke. The one prayer he nor his brother had ever answered. You didn’t know if it was actually outside of his power to give you. Sometimes, in your darkest thoughts, you wondered if he kept it from you because he couldn’t bear the thought of you rejecting him for what he truly was.

But then he would come again, with kindness and soft words and the scent of clouded incense, and your stormy mind would soothe. He had a way of doing that, settling your thoughts and making you feel at peace.

You began to love him back, something that had been forbidden you, as a priestess… but you satisfied your guilt with the fact that your heart was, indeed, promised to your god. He had accepted it, too, as much as two star-crossed, forever apart lovers could.

He hadn’t even been able to kiss you, when you told him you loved him, nor you him.

You had wept, and feared his wrath for your selfishness, but he had wept too, and outside the temple, the sky had poured down rain for _days_ , bearing witness to his own misery.

It was soon after that the world began to change.

Kingdoms fell, across the world. Power shifted, and questions and doubts arose. Why had the gods not intervened? Why had so much loss been allowed, so much evil been done? Perhaps there weren’t gods. Perhaps there was no reason to fear retribution from above and below.

Most of the other priests left, on quests for enlightenment or other ways to support themselves. Most of the loyal and devout never returned to the temple doors. Soon, only the oracle and you remained, steadfast and unbreaking. She, singing the songs of the gods and the end times. You, whispering your devotion to the kingdom below and your godly lover, cleaning the halls as best you could and counting the days until he would return to you.

That night had come at last.

The candle on your sill flickered again, under a soft sigh, and you turned your head to the doorway, to the shadow under the archway. You smiled, warm and inviting, and gestured to his stool.

“My lord… I’ve missed you so.”

You heard the whisper of a laugh as he slipped from the shadows, the rustling sweep of his cloak across the flagstones. The scent of smoke and rain grew nearer, and against the side of your face, you felt his hand hover, tracing the shape of your cheekbone with exquisite care but no real contact. He was always so careful… so very cautious.

“i’ve missed you too, beloved. i am sorry i was gone for so long… but the war rages. the romans have no mercy… the dead are many.”

You resisted the desire to lean into his hand, to reach out to touch him in comfort, and instead smiled, reaching up to touch your worship stone, strung about your neck on a simple leather cord.

He had offered you a better one, a chain of rare metal from his kingdom, but you had declined. It reminded you of when you had first stumbled up these steps… how grateful you were, to both him and your home.

“I have prayed long for the hardness of their hearts to cease. I can only hope the war ends soon. The winter is not far off… you will be busy enough already.”

He sighed, a finger pressing to the prayer stone as well.

“you pray with such devoutness… i am sure those greater than myself have heard. tonight, though… i thought we could address some of your other prayers. prayers you thought i wouldn’t hear.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Was he angry that you still begged the gods for your sight? You hadn’t intended to displease him, had only wanted… wanted to finally see him. If only for a moment, to know the face of your deity, the visage of the being that owned your heart, your body, your life, your _soul_.

“I… I can explain, lord…”

He shushed you, and stepped back.

“enough. come… to the altar room.”

You followed him meekly, picking up your staff to move about the halls without falling. He led the way swiftly, seeming almost impatient in his rush, and it wasn’t long, in the small temple, until you entered the largest room in the building.

Your staff tapping the flags echoed around the chamber, muffled only slightly by tapestries you only knew from tales that bore the many victories and adventures of your gods. Two towering statues of the pair of death gods stood at the head of the room, and between them lay the altar, set with a worn, but clean, velvet runner and an empty candelabra.

Your steps faltered when you felt, as you approached the altar itself, him sweep behind you, hovering in your passed steps and gusting warm breaths over the back of your neck, bared by your shaved head.

“i know what you think of, in the small hours of the night, priestess. what you crave, what you wish of me. you know it to be impossible… that i am not a god of healing. but still you yearn. i have heard your pleas, though… and promised you all. how could i deny you this?”

You sucked in a breath, hope and eagerness fluttering in your stomach.

“My liege… I had thought…”

He chuckled, warm and doting, and swept around you, light as air and ethereal.

“you have been so patient, my star, my light. even though i can’t give you your sight… what would give you such joy… you didn’t abandon my side. you loved me yet, and gave me your undying loyalty. so… i have come to give what i can in return.”

Your heart stuttered at his words, and very nearly jumped from your chest entirely when something, _someone_ touched your wrist, the back of your hand.

You jerked, lips dropping open with a pop, lost for words for an immeasurable time as the touch grew bolder, traveled up your arm, to the curve of your elbow, it’s contact soft as silk, smooth and light as a whisper.

“But… but how…”

He hummed, and another touch, just as soft and light, rested on your hip, caressing like a passing breeze.

“i found a way. relics, gloves of magic and divine protection. …technically, i stole them. but for you… so that you may see, even just through your hands… that i may show you the love you deserve… anything. _everything_.”

You gaped for another moment, amazed and caught in the sudden possibilities, and slowly raised one hand, the one that he had touched so briefly, to carefully, cautiously, feel for his face.

You expected many things, when you finally made contact. You expected raw flesh, flayed and bloody. You expected heat, the skin of a demon, or even ice, elemental and cruel. You expected spines, blades… many, many terrible things, to have so many speak of your god with such horror.

All you felt, when your fingers met the line of his jaw, was bone, though. Bare bone, hard and ivory smooth with just the barest amount of porous grain. You tilted your head, and raised your other hand to cup his face between your exploring fingers. No flesh, not even scraps. Empty sockets, permanent grin…

A skeleton. He was a skeleton.

How silly people could be, looking on what they would one day be and fearing it so. You only smiled, and traced your finger over the flat of a tooth, and leaned forward, daring and blatant. You pressed a kiss to his uplifted, bare grin, and lingered there, your heart aflutter and your sightless eyes pricking with tears.

“Thank you… I have never been given such a great gift…”

You nuzzled your nose against the sharp ridge of his nasal cavity, and his hands, light and soft and alighting on your waist, pulled you closer, against the hardness of his body and to the embrace of a kiss of his own, beseeching and desirous.

He only broke it when you were breathless and flushed, and seemed to be a little flustered himself, his breath heavy on your lips and his hands pulling at your robes. You clung to his as well, playing with the hood, the knotted rope around his neck.

Would it be too bold… against your vows…?

You laid your head against his shoulder as you wondered to yourself, your lips a breath from the bare bone of his neck, and he seemed to freeze before his hands moved to your back, sliding along the length of your spine.

You shivered, moaning beneath your breath, and he grunted quietly in return, pulling away from you and sliding his gloved fingers under your chin. He raised your lips back to his, and turned you both on the spot.

“my priestess… you have worshiped me so long. i believe it is my turn,” he whispered against your lips, pressing you back against the side of the altar behind you, and you gasped as he trailed a series of kisses down your jaw and throat, digging your fingers into his shoulders and throwing your head back.

This… this was… it felt like sin, but sin couldn’t be so good, could it? And you had promised yourself to him and his service… your heart to his love and disposal… by all but letter, you were married. You could give yourself to a man (or god…) that you’d married.

His running his hands to the backs of your thighs, to lift you onto the edge of the altar and step between your legs, solidified your thoughts, and you leaned into him with the fire and need of your inexperience, hands shaking as they traced his oddly expressive face and breath faltering.

You squirmed on the edge of the stone altar, whimpering when he pulled the tie around your waist, and leaned forward to meet his almost too eager kisses.

“This seems blasphemous, lord… should we…?” you queried between wet, quick kisses and heated breaths, but he seemed uninterested in separating from you, pushing your robe open and running his hands over your bare stomach. You could practically feel his gaze on your body, burning you alive and stoking your flesh into an inferno.

“sans. and this is my temple, is it not? my alter? i can think of no more fitting offering, priestess, than you and our love,” he rumbled, pushing your robe from your shoulders and cupping your breasts in his palms, and electricity shot through your entire body, a moan echoing through the altar room and a flush of arousal taking your flesh.

You didn’t know what to do with your hands; they scrabbled along the sleeves of his robe, the length of his neck, your own body. Everything felt alive, vibrating with the energy of the universe itself.

“Ohh… I suppose sooo… hahh…” you whimpered in return, once you had realized that you had never answered him, and he, with a warm, deep laugh and a slick, sparking appendage traced across your lips, helped you lie back on the crushed velvet of the runner across the altar, a similar feeling trailing up your thigh **.**

You were wise to the ways of men, of sex and lovers (your time on the streets, as a blind, homeless female, had not been kind to you), and though you questioned, within, his ability to join with you in this way, you had no protests when he whispered his desire against your ear, when he brushed the hardness of his arousal between your legs, tempting and tantalizing.

When he joined his body with yours, and sent you reeling with pleasure you’d never known before.

He was gentler than you’d ever known a man to be, tender and, as he had said only moments before, practically worshiping you as you lay beneath him, choking on any words you tried to speak and pulling him closer, with grasping hands and plaintive lips and shaking legs.

You felt like a goddess, under his attention, and wept quietly as you attempted to meet his thrusts, as you returned his kisses and whimpered his name in holy reverence.

He brushed your tears from your cheeks when he saw them with presses of his bony lips, movements slowing in clear concern.

“my star… why are you crying? it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

You shook your head a few more times than necessary, smoothing the lines of worry from his face and wrapping your legs around his back, the arch of his pelvis.

“No… I want… I don’t know… ohhh… I _need_ …” you gasped, needy and daring to ask for more than he was already giving, but he had always been doting of you. Always giving, and slipped his gloved hand between your undulating bodies, rubbing a thumb to your sensitive clit and tracing what you could only assume was his tongue down your arched throat, over your proffered breasts.

“ _yes…_ beg for me, my divine light. your prayers are the ambrosia denied me… your supplication my balm and blessing. _**beg**_ … and there is nothing in this world and the next that will not be yours,” he swore, his resonant voice breaking in the depth of his indulgence, the height of his desire, and you obeyed without question, without coercion, your mind enflamed with pleasure and your every sense filled with _him_.

“Please… Sans… _more_ … I need this feeling, you, all you are willing to give…” you plead, desperate and craven, and he shuddered, a hand pressing between your breasts, over your heart, to your very soul.

“you will have it, beloved. your pleasure and more.”

He swept you away on overwhelming waves of helpless passion, sending you to heights you had never experienced before, to feelings you hadn’t ever thought you would experience. You could tell he wasn’t a practiced lover, that he fumbled occasionally, but you had no desire to mention it, sure that not only was he just as new to this as you were, but that it truly didn’t matter.

He was one with you, and you with him. He was bringing you as much pleasure as you were bringing him, and that was what mattered to you.

And as your climax broke, as your godly lover breathed in ragged gasps against your neck and clutched you close in his own end, you could swear you saw the stars wheeling above, eternal and as complete as you were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and seeya next time!


	5. Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need to learn your place, human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
>  http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the amazing fanart that gets shown to me!  
>  http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> The first Kinktober!  
>  http://archiveofourown.org/works/8238460/chapters/18880264

*Swapfell*

* * *

Sans, for the seventh time in the past ten minutes, let out a sigh of exasperation, glaring up over the edge of his ledger at his brother and his human, tapping a phalange on the desk he sat behind. His jaw was clenched, annoyed beyond his ability to cope any longer.

“Can you two please keep it down?! I’m trying to work!”

Papyrus shrugged, sending his irritated brother a casual glance, before turning back to you, bent over the edge of the desk in front of him and naked as the day you’d been born, and adding another finger to your pussy, arching them and drinking in your whining keen of ecstasy with a crooked grin.

“sorry, bro… y'know she’s a fuckin’ screamer.”

Sans growled, cracking his jaw and sneering down at you, half bent over his books and slobbering on the hardwood.

“Then put the muzzle on her, or fuck her out on the couch like you usually do! I have to get this paperwork done!” he complained, waving a hand to the back of the study door, and the tall, lanky skeleton tutted and smirked, pulling back on your hair to pull your face up to meet Sans’ glare. Your bound hands, secured with handcuffs behind your back, clenched and pulled, trying to hold your weight up and failing entirely.

“aww, c'mon, sans… y'now she loves it when you watch. squirts like a damn firehose…” he prodded, wriggling his long fingers within your core to evidence your arousal (the sound of your sopping wet folds brought a blush to your face, humiliation washing over you), and, with a surge of bravery, you whimpered beseechingly, biting your lip and bumping your hips back into Papyrus’ hand.

“Sans… Sans, _please_ …” you begged, and both skeleton monsters froze, staring at you unmovingly. Papyrus was the first to move, dropping you flat on the desk and snarling like a beast as he pulled his hand away from your folds, and Sans, punitive and dangerous, stood slowly from the desk, putting down his papers and leering.

“…What have I told you about calling me by my name, slut?” he said quietly, haughty and punishing, and you quailed, your knees buckling and your eyes watering.

“I… I’m sorry, Master…” you whispered, shrinking away from him as he rounded the side of the desk, but before you knew it he was before you, grabbing the chain on your cuffs and twisting your arms behind your back.

He dragged you across the study room floor, to an empty spot of carpet, and shoved you to the ground on your hands and knees before planting one of his boots on the back of your neck and pressing your face to the floor, bending over your back and growling ferociously, irately.

“You _will_ be. Papyrus!” he snapped, digging his heel into the back of your neck and glaring up at his salivating brother, and the taller skeleton monster, gaze fixated on your dripping pussy being presented to him, straightened immediately and met Sans’ commanding snarl with a cruel grin, unbuckling his belt as he strode across the room to stand behind you.

“yes, m'lord,” he hissed, dropping to his knees behind you and shoving his tight pants as far down as they would go, and then he was jerking you up by the hips, spitting into his hand and stroking the length of his intimidatingly long cock, studded with rings and already dotted with drips of precum.

You knew what was coming, what the punishment for your particular indiscretion was, but nothing prepared you for Papyrus, with neither warning nor preparation, pushing half of his length into your ass with one thrust, his claws scraping your flesh and your back snapping straight with the surge of pain.

You wailed plaintively, eyes wide and fists clenching within your bonds, but neither of the skeletons acknowledged your cries, Sans only shifting his boot to your upper back and Papyrus, fanged jaw hanging open wantonly, shoving the rest of his cock into you with a shuddering groan, his sockets shuttering in pure bliss.

“fuuuuuckk… she’s so damn _tight…”_ he moaned, pumping himself against your raised posterior shallowly, and you choked on another whine of pain when one of his hands circled your bruised flesh to press, too hard and too quickly, to your slick, studded clit, punishing you further with stinging, hedonistic pleasure.

Sans, standing above you both, only huffed and folded his arms across his chest, glaring critically at your supplication.

“I keep telling you to make her wear the plug more often, brother. _Harder_. She’s not _**nearly**_ sorry enough,” he demanded, reaching out to pick up a riding crop from the edge of his desk to swipe it across your back, and you flinched before your whole body shuddered, Papyrus obeying his command immediately and _ruthlessly_.

Your knees ground into the carpet as he pounded himself into your already abused ass, leaving rug burns in your flesh, and the cuffs bit into your wrists as you attempted to shift to spread your legs further, biting your lower lip against the pleas for mercy that you knew would only earn you more pain, more punishment.

Sans smirked at your twisted expression, how your nails bit into your palms, and stepped off your back to kneel in front of you, twisting his gloved phalanges into your hair to turn your face, to force you to meet his gaze.

“Does it hurt, whore? Are you going to _cry_?” he queried sadistically, pulling at your hair cruelly, and you dropped your eyes to his crotch, to the faint navy glow of his own magic, and shook your head meekly, blinking away any tears that had risen instinctively and doing your best to choke back your pained whimpers.

Papyrus was only gaining momentum as he worked himself in and out of your prostrated body, claws scraping furrows down the length of your thighs and flicking at your pierced clit without quarter, and it was all you could do not to scream.

At this point, you weren’t sure it was in pain anymore.

Sans seemed pleased with your humility, and shook his fingers from your hair to roughly caress your face, pinching your cheeks and forcefully turning your gaze so you could watch Papyrus over your own shoulder.

“Good. Now thank my brother for gifting your disgusting, filthy body with his cock,” he commanded in a harsh murmur, and you flushed in humiliation, at the lowness of your position and the gush of arousal that slicked down your thighs at his demand.

Gods…

“Th-thank you, m-master…” you whimpered, your voice shaky and weak, and though Papyrus’ grin curved in satisfaction, his gold fangs glinting and his rust orange tongue sweeping across his already saliva saturated jaw and his cock throbbing inside you, sending a wave of heat through your blood that made you lightheaded, Sans wasn’t impressed, and slapped his crop across your quivering ass, shaking from the never-ending motion of his brother’s thrusting pelvis.

“ _For_?” he prompted, striking you again, three times in succession, and you yelped with each lance of pain, squirming in place and making Papyrus snarl at you and lean his weight on you, grinding his pelvis against your backside.

“For f-fucking my aaahhhh! My a-ass!” you cried out in answer, squeezing your eyes shut and gasping for breath and trying to ignore the build of your orgasm (Sans would be furious if you came during your punishment), and Papyrus, head tilting back as you tightened around him even further, let his tongue dangle over his fangs listlessly, bucking into your body ravenously.

“oh, you’re welcome, my little cocksleeve… ’m happy to use you,” he purred in his rumbling, divinely dark voice, caressing your bruising, whealed posterior even as he sank himself rabidly within you, and it was then that you made the mistake of moaning.

You thought it was quiet enough for you to get away with it, overwhelmed by the sounds of bone meeting soaked flesh and Papyrus panting in tandem with his mindless thrusts, but Sans heard you, and bared his fangs in a growl of ill temper, again curling his fingers into your hair and yanking.

“More _pain_ , I think. She can still make noise, and I’m tired of hearing her,” he snarled, and Papyrus sneered, open mouthed and craven, and sank both sets of his claws into your hips to pull you onto his length as far as you would go, drawing blood with his grip and making your eyes fly wide at the sheer depth he reached.

You tried to keep it in, you really did… but the pain was definitely pleasure now, and your cries were evident of it, your eyes rolling in your head and your pussy clenching blissfully, your arousal streaking down your inner thighs and soaking Papyrus’ femurs and pants.

He felt it, too, and sucked in a haggard breath, while Sans nearly spat in anger, jerking your head up off the floor entirely and unclasping the skull buckle on his belt with his free hand.

“Not cooperating, are we? Very well. Brother?” he ordered, jerking his pants open and nodding down at you, and Papyrus, slowly snapping out of his haze of pleasure, reached out to grasp your forearms and pull you up off the ground by them, jerking you back into his thrusts and bringing you face to crotch with his diminutive brother, who had freed his girthy, deep blue cock from his shorts and was scooting closer to you, stroking his length and shifting his grip in your hair to knot it around his fist.

He forced the tip of his dick against your lips the moment they were in reach, smearing magic across your mouth and cheek.

“Suck. Perhaps we can stop those ridiculous noises this way,” he snapped, thrusting against you, and you could only obey, parting your lips and letting him push his nearly too thick cock into your mouth. You gagged when he met the back of your throat, but relaxed as much as possible to attempt to suckle at him, weak from pleasure and distracted by the monster behind you as his pubic arch pressed perfectly to your engorged clit.

Sans quickly grew impatient with your weary attempts to suck him off and started bucking against your lips, guiding you up and down his length with the hand clenched in your hair, and you only lost more concentration as his free hand shoved itself under your torso to grope at one of your breasts, twisting the pierced nipple cruelly and pulling until you whimpered around his thickness.

Your knees slipped, in your distraction, and Papyrus, sockets snapping open where they had drifted shut in his blissed torpor, glared down at you and shifted his grasp to encompass both your wrists in one hand so he could strike his palm across your ass, golden fangs bared in ire.

“keep your fuckin’ ass up! lazy _bitch_ ,” he snarled, and you scrambled to obey while, at the same moment, tilting your head back to accept Sans’ attempts to fuck your throat, nearly lost to the masochistic pleasure of being trapped between the two rough, cruel monsters.

Your quickness to obey seemed to please them both, at the very least, Papyrus’s free hand smoothing over the large, dark print he had left on your posterior and Sans’ phalanges playing more idly with your nipple. The smaller skeleton even eased his thrusts against the back of your throat, watching you with something gloating and satisfied in his gaze.

“You’re very lucky you’re good for getting us off, tramp… though I am beginning to doubt that ability. You haven’t even managed to make my brother cum yet. Can’t you even do your only job correctly?” he muttered darkly, a warning and a challenge in his tone and words both, and you met his gaze with hard determination, doubling your efforts to suck his cock while pulling more weight onto your own knees so you could thrust back into Papyrus, your reddened, bruising ass meeting his pelvis with every motion.

The taller monster sucked in a ragged gasp of surprise and sheer pleasure, his sockets flying wide and his jaw dropping.

“haaaaahhh _ **fuck**_! shit, baby, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck…” he grunted animalistically, scrabbling for a grip on your waist to pull you closer, slow you down, take you harder, you had no idea, only aware of the pulse of his pleasure within you and the sound of his voice pitching towards his orgasm.

Suck on that, Sans.

The dictator directing your punishment only grinned wider at his brother’s behavior, and pulled you off his cock by his grip on your hair, meeting your gaze with a knowing look.

“There it is… finally proving your worth. Better late than never, yes? Hold her up, Papyrus.”

Papyrus, moaning in shuddering waves, missed twice in trying to grasp again at your arms with both hands before succeeding and dragging you back against his chest, rolling his hips up into you even as he rearranged you in his capable grasp, large hands digging under your thighs to spread you for his brother.

Sans only wasted a moment looking over you, inspecting your sweaty, lust and blood streaked body, before scooting into the cradle of your thighs and burying himself in your core to the hilt, tongue extending to trace a trail over your breasts, up your neck, and to your lips.

He plunged it past them and into your mouth, groping at your breasts and rutting against you with determined vigor. He only let you breathe when you began to struggle and whimper, and bit your lip teasingly, admiring your flush as he wrapped a hand around your throat, pulling you down onto his and his brother’s cocks.

“So wet… how incredibly lewd. Is this what turns you on? Being degraded to an object, a doll to sate our pleasure? I shouldn’t be surprised…” he crooned, squeezing your throat and growling hungrily when you moaned weakly and thrust back against him, before releasing your throat, pulling your head to the side roughly, and biting into your shoulder.

The taste of your blood sent him over the edge, and he came within you in stuttering bursts, grinding the arch of his pelvis against you and twisting your nipples savagely until you came as well, shrieking and wailing and soaking yourself, the floor, and both of your lovers. As he filled you, stamina waning and cruelty draining, he practically purred, licking the fresh bite littered among the old ones.

“Take it… take it, it’s all you’re good for…” he muttered fondly, fangs reddened with your blood and magic glutted with sated lust, while behind you, hands squeezing your thighs so hard your skin paled, Papyrus had yet to stop, thrusting up into you in erratic, short bursts. He looked absolutely wrecked, flushed dark orange and panting out clouds of heated breath, and seemed only capable of making unintelligible, meaningless noises in his pleasure.

“ahhhh… gaahhh… fuhhhh, hnggg…”

Sans roused himself after a long moment of nuzzling against your shoulder, sighing and sliding his still erect cock from your drooling pussy (“Ah ah, no whining… more later, but only if you’re good.”), and pressed a slow kiss to your slack lips before glaring over your shoulder at his brother, impatient and annoyed.

“Oh, hurry up and cum in her, Papyrus, stop dragging it out! She’s going to faint on us if you keep this up,” he griped, carefully smoothing his hands over your hips, and Papyrus, groaning and nearly delirious, pushed his parted jaws to your ear, pressing open mouthed kisses to your mussed hair.

“i already did… i wanna again, she’s too fuckin’ _good_ …” he panted, arching against your back and making your tired, used body shudder even more, and Sans, shushing your quiet, cracking moans with a gloved finger pressed to your lips, then reached out to flick the taller skeleton in the eye socket, scowling fiercely.

“I know she is, idiot, but she’s overstimulated! She needs care, you selfish prick!” he shouted, far too close to your ear (you winced, making Sans apologize profusely in hushed whispers), and this finally caught Papyrus’ attention, his hips halting immediately and his sockets widening to take in your state.

He cursed, knowing he’d gotten caught up again, and pulled from your body with careful slowness, righting his clothes so he could uncuff your wrists and bundle you against his chest, kissing your cut, parted lips in quick, apologetic pecks.

“fuck, sugar, i didn’t know… i’m sorry, i’m done. c'mon, lets get you cleaned up,” he muttered, shifting himself to his feet with you in his arms (you clung to his neck, weary and grateful for the ride), and Sans followed suit, clothes again impeccable as he strode imperiously in front of his taller brother, throwing the study door open and caressing your thigh as Papyrus shifted you in his grasp.

“You run the bath, I will fetch her a snack and ready the bed. …very good girl, my pet. You did so well,” he assured you, standing on the toes of his boots to kiss you again, and you kissed him back before curling against Papyrus’ chest, grasping at his collar and sighing happily.

“Thank you, Sansy… Rus…”

Both skeletons flushed, doting, flustered smiles on their scarred faces, and they looked at each other significantly, heavy understanding in their grateful gazes.

“heh… too lucky, eh, bro?”

“Yes… yes we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed <3


	6. Lingerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus has never been one for PDA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's about to change.
> 
> My Tumbr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
>  http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the amazing fanart that gets shown to me!  
>  http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> The first Kinktober!  
>  http://archiveofourown.org/works/8238460/chapters/18880264

 

* * *

*Underfell*

* * *

“Are you ever going to be finished with this ridiculous parade of tacky outfits, woman? I have shopping of my own to do too, you know.”

In the floor length mirror you were currently posing in front of, your coquettish smile fell away into bland annoyance, your bottom lip pouting out as you sent a glare towards the shuttered dressing stall door. Just under it, you could see the heels of Papyrus' boots, pacing outside the door in his impatience.

You let out a frustrated sigh, turning back to the mirror and fiddling with one of the shoulder straps on your current outfit. See if he could mock this one as much as he had the sundresses and blouses.

“I can't believe you didn't like a single one of them, Papyrus. You are _impossible_ to please,” you complained, casting a mournful look at the pile of discarded clothes behind you on the dressing stall's bench (it wasn't as though you really needed his approval for your outfits, you were simply... you liked it when he liked how you looked), and from beyond the closed door, Papyrus scoffed, his pacing halting before, you assumed, one of the mirrors out in the main dressing room, so he could better preen.

“Tch. If you would take my dressing advice, perhaps one or two would have earned my approval,” he disparaged, crass and prideful as always, and in your own mirror, you rolled your eyes and reached up to straighten a hank of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and turning sideways to inspect both the back of your hair and the cut of your gown.

“Ohhh... so sorry, but I don't have a membership card at Hot Topic,” you jibed playfully, wiggling your rear and giggling to yourself (this was definitely gonna put him in his place), and outside the door, Papyrus grew deathly quiet, the toes of his boots appearing as he turned to face the obstacle standing between you.

“...I am unsure of what this place is, but from your tone, I assume you are mocking me,” he growled, gruff and warning (you could practically imagine his gloved hands propped on his hips, his glare and the offended huff of breath he let out when you teased him; he was adorable, and the thought only need to laugh even more), but you could tell there was no real heat to his temper, that he knew you were playing as well, and with an amused smile and a final twirl before the mirror, you unlocked the door and opened it just enough to peek out at him, your sarcasm clear in your eyes.

“No, really?”

The tall, scarred skeleton monster sneered down at you from his incredible height (the heeled boots were incredibly unnecessary for him, but he insisted that they made him look dashing and fierce), his hands indeed propped on his partially exposed hipbones, bared by his upset Gyftmas sweater, and his scowl foreboding. He pointed one finger at you, tapping a gloved claw on the end of your nose and holding back his smirk forcefully when you giggled and swatted at it.

“I won't stand for this abuse and disrespect. If you aren't done in exactly one minute, I am leaving without you,” he threatened emptily (he hated shopping alone; who would he show off for? Sans had refused to come this time, and Undyne was on a trip abroad with Alphys), and you shushed him, shooting him a quelling look that he immediately raised his bony brows at.

“Oh, calm your tits, Captain Tightwad. I've got one more for you to look at... and I'm pretty sure it's gonna knock your boots off,” you insinuated, finally pulling the door open for him to see your last outfit, and he stepped back to allow you room to exit, though he rolled the lights in his sockets at the same time, folding his arms across his chest and tossing his chin and, consequentially, missing seeing the gown you had donned for a moment.

“I very much doubt it, from the general consensus of your oth... othe... rrrrr...” he began, bored and ready to leave the women's clothing store, but stuttered, uncharacteristically, to a halt when he spared a glance for your outfit, falling silent and very nearly losing his jaw to the floor.

Your day at the mall had begun as a self-indulgent shopping trip, attempting to find a dress for your anniversary with your bony lover, but the impatient monster's dismissal of everything you showed him had started to grate on your nerves. So you had forgone tact and prudence entirely in favor of a nearly completely see-through red shift with matching thigh highs, the shimmering, transparent material flowing down to your upper thighs and baring all but your breasts and what your already scanty panties hid.

It appeared to have done its intended job of catching his attention, judging from the state Papyrus had been left in; he seemed utterly incapable of speech at the moment, simply staring, slack-jawed, empty socketed, and breathless at your nearly bare body. You did a twirl for him, hearing his breath return to him in a hitch as the feathery hem rose on the disturbed air of your motion, and when you returned to facing him, you sent him a smug look, setting your own hands on your hips victoriously.

“So? Boots feeling a little loose?” you purred, smirking up at him with just the slightest amount of superiority, and Papyrus, breaking from his flabbergasted stupor, stepped immediately in front of you to block the sight of you from the open doorway into the rest of the store, his gloved hands moving to your upper arms and his fanged mouth dropping to your ear.

“...Back in there, right _now,_ ” he growled, pushing you gently but insistently backward into the dressing stall, and you capitulated willingly, used to his insistence that no one see you in a state like this but him. You'd tried to get him to be intimate with you in public before, but he staunchly refused every time, giving nothing more than a kiss and a promise to fulfill your desires once you returned home.

He was a very private, easily flustered monster, despite his appearance, but you didn't mind, and allowed yourself to be prodded back into the relative cover of the stall, snickering to yourself at his expression and making to reach again for the clothes you had come to the mall in that morning.

What you didn't expect was him to follow you in, crowding you against the back wall of the small room and locking the door behind him. You let out a squeak at the sudden intrusion, and the not unwelcome weight of his hands as he stroked his palms down your sides to your hips, rearranging your both so you fit at least mildly better into the tight space.

Your cheeks colored at the intimate touch, an inkling of his intent sneaking into your mind (but it couldn't be, he refused even hugging you for too long in public), but you shook it away almost immediately, huffing and pulling at two of his long, clawed phalanges with one of your hands.

“Papyrus! There's not enough room for you in here too, what-” you started to admonish in a whisper, wriggling and looking up at him over your shoulder through the mirror you were very nearly pressed against, but he deigned not to answer, instead firming his grip on your waist and bending over you to press his fangs to your neck, a gentle kiss of bare teeth to flesh that rendered you still in an instant.

His breath washed over your throat in a humid cloud, sending a shiver down your spine, and you bit your lip against the whine that rose to your tongue, your heart starting to speed in your chest in both excitement and wonderment.

He couldn't possibly...

He seemed just as excited as you were, shifting against your back and rubbing his thumbs over the rounds of your hips; his jaw parted to allow the tip of his summoned tongue (when had he activated his magic? You hadn't noticed...) to trace its way up your neck, over the line of your jaw and up to the lobe of your ear.

He met your gaze with one lazy glance through the mirror, the burning evidence of his magic and ignited lust filling his visible socket with lambent power.

“So. You thought to tease me with these see-through garments, did you? You thought to have your revenge for my judgment of your other choices. Nyeh heh heh... the Great and Terrible Papyrus will have to enact vengeance for such a low blow,” he murmured against your flesh, closing his teeth slowly around the lobe of your ear to bite at it gently at the same moment that he pressed his hips against your lower back, grinding his belt buckle and the curved, turgid bulge of his arousal against you, and you gasped, your fingers tightening around his and curling into a fist against the mirror before you.

Gods, he was serious... at least you hoped he was. He was a bit of a tease at times, as fond of a clever joke as his brother was (“Don't you dare compare my expertly conceived jests to my _brother's,_ human, that is incredibly insulting! Sans couldn't find a good joke if it were sleeping inside his rib cage.”), but... he certainly seemed decided, and wasn't one to waste magic for nothing.

If he was serious, though, you were about to either have the hardest time keeping quiet you ever had, or were going to get banned from JC Penny's.

“Papy... not here...” you whimpered, barely resisting rising to your toes to buck against the prominence of his twitching length, confined within his tight leather pants, but Papyrus, his smile spreading into near cruelty, made no move to pull back or renege on his clear intent, only rolled his hips against you again, his hands again climbing your sides to pull the sheer material of your shift up your legs and over your posterior.

“No? Perhaps you should have thought of that before donning this fluffy, incredibly provoking dressing gown,” he tutted, a quiet laugh carried on his gruff, momentarily low voice (he was often one of the loudest people you knew, accustomed to having to shout over his brother to be heard, and had never quite broken the habit), and shifted back only to pull the nightshirt completely over your head, tossing it dismissively to the floor before nuzzling again at your throat, his hands returning to your flesh, one traveling the expanse of your thigh, the other squeezing at a breast.

“You know wearing clothes to bed is a punishable offense all on its own...”

You breathed out a gasp when he turned you in his grasp and pressed you back against the mirror behind you, when he pulled you up into his arms and stole that gasp from your lips with a consuming, intoxicating kiss. His strength was such that it meant nothing to support your full weight with one arm while he released himself from his pants, and swallowed the exhalation of bliss you let out when he pulled your panties to the side and slid into you with exquisite slowness, only releasing your lips so he could watch your eyelids flutter, so he could experience your pleasure fully.

Your hand clutching at his cervical vertebrae, your fingers fitted between his radius and ulna as you sought grounding in your ecstasy... your toes curling with each kiss of his pelvic arch to your clit, the bite of your teeth into your lower lip to belay the moans he could feel ricocheting within you, begging for release as surely as the clench of your walls around his cock...

“Such divinity should never be hidden.”

It mattered not, he realized, where and when he saw this sublime and unearthly sight. This, you coming apart in your rapture, was what he craved, what he lived and breathed for, and it was all he could do not to shame himself by breaking into tears from the mere sight of such beauty, forced to clench his jaw and calm his soul with all his might to avoid alarming the entire population of this ridiculous human store with an exclamation when you came for him.

Such a fool he had been, thinking to keep you waiting for your pleasure, to withhold from you the love he drowned in every waking hour, until he thought it proper. Never again. He would give you the world, should you desire it.

He couldn't have resisted following you if he had bothered to try, and spilled himself within you moments after you reached your end, pressing his mouth again to yours and stilling against you in his surging bliss. The both of you rested against the mirror for along moment, trading kisses and stroking each other's bodies, before, with what appeared to be the effort of a titan, Papyrus heaved himself away from nearly crushing you to the wall, panting slightly and looking at you with a consideration so deep and consuming that you blushed.

“Angels weep in covetous rage of how you look when you orgasm,” he murmured, squeezing you gently in his grasp and, with a sly twist of his mouth, bucking against you one last time (his cock shifted within your still recovering core, shaking a tremulous moan and a full body shudder from you) before letting you down onto your feet and helping you gather your clothes.

He seemed thoughtful, as he did so, thought it wasn't odd for him to be; he was quite the romantic, in your intimacy, something you wouldn't have expected from him in the beginning (he had been almost tsundere, when you had first been getting to know him, frequently refusing to admit he felt anything for you), and you let him keep his private thoughts, only tracing your fingers along his arm while he righted his clothes and kissing his cheekbone when he insisted on helping you put on your shoes.

He sent you a thankful glance, at that, knelt at your feet (quite awkwardly, in the small space, but gallant nonetheless) and zipping the long sandal up the back of your thigh.

“Has your desire been sated, beloved?” he queried almost conversationally, an unspoken offer clear in his gaze, and you blushed, the feeling of his magic staining the crotch of your panties pulling at your attentions, before nodding and watching him stand, a pleased smile about his fanged mouth.

Papyrus gathered all of the outfits you had tried on into his arms, very obviously adding the nightgown to the top of the pile, and then held a hand out to you, helping you up from the bench you had been reposing on.

“Very good. Then we will purchase these... outfits, since you like them so much... and attempt to find this Hot Topic you spoke of. I presume they have the most premium in intimidating couture, since you recommended it to my tastes,” he informed you, unlocking the stall door and shooing you out in front of him (thank god, no one else had come in during... _that_ ; you had momentarily lost your sense of self in the middle of your romantic interlude, and feared you might have screamed), and you smiled indulgently, taking his hand when he offered it as he exited behind you and thinking of the display of Justin Bieber and My Little Pony t-shirts you had seen displayed in the front window the last time you'd walked past the store.

“Sure, baby.”

 


	7. Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans has something he needs you to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as far as he's concerned, there's only one way to do that.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
>  http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the amazing fanart that gets shown to me!  
>  http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> The first Kinktober!  
>  http://archiveofourown.org/works/8238460/chapters/18880264

* * *

*Dancetale*

* * *

Many say that dance is the language of love, the only way our hearts and souls can speak it.

It tells stories and reveals emotion that simple words cannot.

You would have said otherwise before you started taking dance lessons. You hadn't thought much of dancing before that, only joining up because your friends had bragged about how much weight they were losing with the new hip hop exercise program at the community center.

You honestly didn't appreciate the fact that they were bringing it up, with those sideways glances and the knowing looks that they always got around the beginning of the year (your resolution had been to finish the main quest in Skyrim, to be perfectly honest), but you'd let it roll off of you.

Hey, it was better than a gym membership that you'd use twice and then never go back to. Cheaper too.

So you'd signed up, and bought those loose, ambiguous sweatpants, and put your hair up in the messy bun that just didn't work, and walked yourself down to the studio with your gym bag full of an unnecessary amount of water bottles, convincing yourself with every step that you'd see this one through.

You wouldn't get scared away by the wafer-thin girls that always looked better than you under any light and came to the gym anyway, by the stares and the judgment. You'd really, really hoped the teacher wasn't one of those muscle laced men that hit on the pretty girls at the front of the class... but that was as unlikely as you actually getting anything positive out of this.

You'd been pleasantly surprised to find that “Mr. Snowdin” was a skeleton and not a fuckboy.

Monsters had been part of your world for quite some time now, graceful beings made of magic and elegance and music. You'd seen them about here and there, doing things like shopping and laughing and playing Candy Crush, and you happened to work for a company that had opened its doors to employing them as well. You were used to the exotic, unique beings, and had walked with a little more confidence when you saw him at the front of the class, flipping through his phone while everyone filed in.

He'd joked with the class as he got everyone settled, greeting a few people by name and sending the rest charming smiles (how could a person made of bones be charming? You didn't know, but he managed it handily) and was clearly fond of satirical turn of phrase, if you could tell anything from all the bone puns.

You wished you could say that he hadn't appealed to you from the start. It was an odd thing, being intrigued by a skeleton monster, something entirely foreign. But the longer the class stretched (it was only an hour, but seemed both an eternity and a second, somehow), the longer he spoke in that rumbling bass voice and the more he proved his competency, the more your interest grew.

Sans, as he insisted on being called (“mister snowdin was my father, and believe me, he's tossing in his grave, heh.”), was simply _drawing_. He had that certain something, that je ne sais quoi, that brought people to life. He was flirtatious, but not a creep. He was a comedian, but didn't try too hard. He was laid back, but not off-putting. He was a talent, but always humble. 

And when he looked at you from under the brim of his hat and winked, his smile just a little crooked, you thought your heart might just jump out of your throat.

Now, you weren't the only one that had noticed the skeletal dancer's charms. He seemed to always be surrounded by simpering females, compliments and appeals, and yet, without hurting anyone's feelings, always seemed to dodge out of any real attachment. It was clear that his focus was his dance, the beat that drove his very soul, and though it disappointed you to think that you would never have a chance with him...

At the very least you got to see him twice a week, and have those amiable little chats at the vending machine. You got to laugh at his jokes, as you stood waiting for the bus (he never took it, just seeming to... disappear, once you got on), and share the secret smile of two people that truly enjoyed each other's company.

You got to do something good with some of your free time, learn a skill that got your blood pumping and cleared your head, and be taught by a surprisingly attractive monster at the same time.

That had been before he started complimenting you, genuine and sweet. That had been before the casual hand brushes, the blushes, the way his hands lingered on your hips when he corrected your stance. Before the intensity of his stare, when he watched you dance.

Before he had asked you to come to the center another day per week for extra lessons... one on one lessons.

“you have something special in your soul... something that's been dying to be freed for your whole life. i wanna help you release it.”

You both knew it was more than that, though you struggled with your grasp on reality in the realization (why you? Why not Cindy, with her perfect figure, or Wendy, in her stupid, sexy yoga pants?). You both knew something more was happening, something neither of you could put into words...

And so you danced.

Watching him dance and dancing _with_ him were entirely different experiences. On his own, he was a vision of fluidity and grace, steady rhythm and impossible nuance. He was a whirlwind, a muse, the incarnation of art.

But with him... with a partner, with _you_ , in his arms, he became raw. 

Bare emotion and fathomless depth. He was lust, he was power, he was joy, he was the sun in the sky, caressing your skin and worshiping you for what you were, in your entirety.

It brought you to literal tears, when he pulled you to his chest and stroked his palm along your thigh, everything he was on primal, unrestrained display.

You'd never felt more perfect, than when he watched you dance for him. Never more sexy, than when he followed your motion from behind, touch dancing on your hips and breath tickling along your throat. Never more powerful, than when you took his breath away with a perfect step.

And when he kissed you, sweaty and disheveled though you were, you'd never felt more complete.

It was odd, if you were honest with yourself. Everything about your relationship with him, from beginning to end. He acted like you were some sort of angel, a perfect being despite your every flaw. He wouldn't hear a word against you, especially not from your own lips. He wouldn't let you hide, like you had your whole life.

You had your tough times, of course. Discrimination. Shaming. That time you'd gotten depressed and refused to see him because you'd binged your way through your whole house again, and you couldn't stand the thought of disappointing him.

Perhaps that was what had prompted him to doing this... to pressing himself against your back, his hands buried under your sweat dappled tank and his bony lips pressing against your throat, but his sockets, lit with his magic, meeting your gaze through the floor to ceiling mirror of your private practice room.

He rolled his hips against your backside, hands stroking your stomach in worshipful need, and nuzzled his nasal ridge against your jaw, sockets hooded but watchful, pinning you through the mirror. The edge of his grin was visible behind your neck, soft and doting.

Your hands, flat against the mirror, trembled in place, your teeth biting at your lower lip and your eyes, shamefully lowered, couldn't find a place to rest. Your heart was racing, from more than your just completed dance.

“S-sans... we shouldn't, not here...” you whimpered, glancing at the back of the closed door, but he only hummed, slowly pushing your damp tank up over your breasts.

“no one will see, promise. i just wanna show you somethin'... somethin' truly special,” he muttered against your throat, and shifted your sports bra, the one that barely fit but was incredibly necessary for dance, out of the way so he could cup your breasts in his palms, half-gloved and cool against your heated flesh, and you clenched your eyes shut entirely, turning your face away.

You hated it, the evidence that you weren't meant to be with him, the imperfections and stretch marks and the excess...

One of his hands taking your chin and pulling it back around gently, his bony lips pressing against yours pleadingly, beseechingly, pulled you instantly from your melancholic low, from the depreciation of your own thoughts, and back into his encompassing embrace, to the drawing power that his presence always had on you. You parted your lips for him at his urging, trembling and weak, and he swept his tongue past them without hesitation, tangling it with yours and stroking his fingers over your throat and down your side, unflinching from the rolls his palms caressed, worshipful, sincere.

When he pulled away, your eyelids fluttered open almost of their own accord, to meet the gentle, floating lights in his sockets, imploring and intent.

“don't close yourself off. please. i want you to see what i see, every time i watch you dance,” he begged, his brows furrowing in concern and the depth of his desire to share his feelings with you, and you vacillated, flicking your gaze between him and the mirror you could see from the corner of your eye, before nodding shortly, terrified but knowing, above anything else, that he intended you no harm.

If there was one thing Sans had proven to you, it was that he was never going to hurt you.

With shaking legs, and thundering heart, you turned back to the surface of the mirror, forcibly resisting turning away again with all your might; you flinched at the reflection you found there, the molded perfection of his bones against your blighted flesh, but he was unmoving in his contact, insistent in his desire. You even felt the hardness in his jeans, softer yet then his bones but still prominent, jutting and proud, twitch against your posterior, attesting to his attraction.

He smiled, through the silver glass, and nuzzled again against the side of your head, his hands following every line your bared torso offered him, revering every flaw and bruise the same as the smooth and the whole.

“you're so stunning,” he whispered in sheer awe, the lights in his sockets flashing, for a moment, into what you thought were hearts, and stopped you the moment you opened your mouth to protest, his expression firming into sternness.

“you _are_. humans judge so much by outward appearance. put worth in what they see with their eyes, not with what they know in their minds and feel in their hearts. i've never understood it,” he mused quietly, grimacing slightly and shaking his head, before he raised one hand to press, with meaning unknown but certainty that belied casual contact, between your breasts, over the center of your being, to your heart, your _soul._

“because if they opened their souls, like you have to me, and i have to you... they could see you for the goddess you truly are,” he muttered, his hand glowing with the living, breathing magic he was made of, and with a light tug, a gentle pull of gravity, he pulled your soul from your chest, manifested above his flattened palm, spinning gracefully in the air to music of its very own, a song you'd heard in your dreams. It was aflame with a lavender fire, infused with amber light, and took your breath away.

He seemed similarly affected, his sockets beading with turquoise tears, before he wiped them away on the shoulders of his hoodie, his smile sincere as he reverently pushed the almost cartoonish heart back into your chest.

“did you hear it? that beat, the rhythm and flow of your soul? a song that has never been sung before, and never will be again, lives in you, babe. it's a fuckin' shame no one else has ever heard it before... because its the most beautiful thing i've ever heard in my life,” he choked out, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back against his chest as though you were a lifeline, before, with a sniffle and a chuckle to himself, he looked back at you through the mirror.

“and every time you dance, every time i'm with you like this, it plays for me, a melody that haunts me every moment i'm not with you,” he divulged, holding your gaze with both meaning and weight (it was all you could do not to weep inconsolably, at this point, still overwhelmed by the feeling of your soul, so close to his magic; his words were everything you had ever needed, what you have never been able to tell yourself), before dragging his hands again over your form, not the form he wanted you to have, as so many others had, but the one you possessed, your being, your entirety.

“you're the culmination of that song. you are what makes that music real. every inch of you, everything you hate about yourself, is what i've been looking for, for more than two hundred years. so never be afraid to show yourself to me, to be who you are,” he assured you, pressing a series of kisses up your jaw at the same moment that the sob you had been holding back broke from your lips, and he took a moment to help you quiet your surge of emotion, shushing and centering you, before taking one of your hands, pressed against the glass of the mirror, and twining your fingers together.

“what you are, right here, right now, is all i need. no more hiding. no more doubt. okay?” he pressed, raising both brows meaningfully, and you nodded through your drying tears, turning your head to kiss him eagerly.

Something in your chest felt lighter, after his words, as though it had been set free from a prison of long, long confinement. It was you that moved to remind him of his arousal, taking his hand and replacing it on your breast, your fingers that pushed at the elastic band of your sweats. Confidence was a new feeling, unbolstered by a new outfit or hairstyle, for once...

You felt new, and adored, and wanted nothing more than to join with the monster that had shown you the way to such a feeling, to play for him the music he loved so dearly.

He was more than eager to comply, quickly catching on to your insinuation and helping you shove your pants down to your ankles; his quickly joined yours, his belt buckle clanking against the wooden floor unheeded and his fingertips sliding between your folds to ready you for him, rubbing against your clit and dancing around your entrance and teasing you until you begged, begged for him to join with you.

He took little more convincing than that, and, with a muffled grunt and a tingle of magic, he pressed the thickness of his bared cock into your core, too eager and excited to take it slow but mindful, ever mindful, of your limitations. He bore into you until your ass met his pelvis, a trickle of sweat already sliding down to the dome of his skull to drip from his jaw and onto his hoodie, where he lingered, long enough to look over your position, bent before him against the mirror.

“now dance with me… show me the music in your heart, and the dance within your soul...” he murmured soulfully, tracing a fingertip along the prominence of your spine, before, with an unsurprising amount of vigor, he bent over your back and arched into you with nearly helpless ardor, his phalanges digging into your fleshy waist and his hips pounding against your backside ruthlessly.

There would be another time, likely that night, if you could talk your roommate out of the dinner she had planned for the both of you, for slowness and lovemaking. You had both experienced something incredible that afternoon, something earth shattering and altering, and needed more than anything the connection that sex brought to you both, saying nothing of getting down in a fairly public place. 

You both knew there was no time to dwell, and so you rocked into each other urgently, grasping and rutting and reaching for that explosive, climactic end; your fingers drew sweaty lines down the surface of the mirror, your breasts bounced and your sneakers squeaked against the floor, but you had little attention to pay such things...

What you felt more than even the tips of his fingers lowering to round your clit, than the press of his cock to the deepest part of you and the approaching precipice of your orgasm, was the bare breath of music you had never heard before, dancing along the edge of your mind and drawing you even further into the dance older than memorable time, into the alchemical chemistry of two beings become one.

You were sure you heard the song of his soul too, that day, and never forgot it.

 


	8. Face Sitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps the nature of your arrangement wasn't quite what it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neither of you seemed to know.
> 
> *Axetale*
> 
> (Be aware. This chapter contains blood, gore, character death, and elements of horror separate from the NSFW.)

* * *

It was a bittersweet thing, being the other woman even after your lover's wife was long dead.   
  


It seemed a nonessential detail, to be honest, when your entire world was horror. When your every day was a struggle for survival, every moment capable of being your last. Sex should be the last thing on your mind. You were sure anyone would think so; in the face of such tribulation, why should you be concerned about the dedication of your partner?   
  


It was the small things, though, that pulled you through. The bright, unbroken expanse of a field of snow, glimmering under the muted illumination of the bioluminescent algae that lit the Underground. The dance of Aliza's fire magic, throwing shadows that, instead of haunting your dreams like the rest, brought lightness to your heart. The sound of Papyrus' laughter, bold and raucous and full of joy for life.   
  


The lingering of Sans' gaze on you from across the room, broken and considering and promising dark things... pleasure or pain, you were never able to tell. All you knew was that he would be by your bedside that night, and all over again, you would give in.   
  


Yes, you took solace in the way he used you, the same as you did in the roof over your head, the food in your belly. The touch of another's hand, bloodstained and cold as it was, settled you and centered you... even if it was clinical on his part, a means to an end.   
  


You tried not to care. You tried not to notice, how each time he came to you, it was in the dead of the night, long after his daughter and brother were asleep. He was quiet, intent and focused. He gained your consent, had his way with you, and left, with zero traded emotion and little real contact beyond his rabid rutting...   
  


And every time he climbed into bed with you, every time he motioned for you to undress, to ready yourself for him, he carefully, lovingly and attentively, removed the locket from around his neck and placed it on your bedside table.   
  


And with that action, without saying a single word, you knew you were a dirty little secret, a filthy indulgence on his part, apart from his soul and what truly mattered to him. You wondered, sometimes, if you looked like she had. If this was why he'd spared you, why he wasted precious resources on your continued existence.    
  


Sure, you pulled your weight. You made yourself useful, even contributed to the food stores with the little garden you planted, hidden from the elements by a ramshackle “greenhouse” of scrap metal and wire. But you knew what was of greater worth, what would bring him one step closer to being free of this hated wasteland of blood and pain and horror.    
  


Your soul, the magic that dwelt within your chest.   
  


You had a feeling that if he wasn't using you to slake his perverse lust, you'd have been dead where you stood the moment he saw you.   
  


Sometimes, you thought about turning him away. So he provided for you, protected you and fed you. You didn't owe him anything, certainly not your body.   
  


And yet, from the first night he had placed the locket on the coffee table and run his skeletal hand up your thigh, you had spread your legs for him without hesitance. And yet, you always went to bed hoping you'd hear your door creak open at two thirty seven in the morning, feel your mattress dip under his weight, shudder under the fetid heat of his breath on your flesh as he crawled over your resting form.   
  


And yet, you craved the slight, bare amount of contact you got from him in the heat of the moment, almost as much as your continued living.   
  


Perhaps that made you a fool. You were sure it did. But the realization didn't make you want to stop.   
  


It only seemed to make you want it more.   
  


So you grinned and bore it. You pretended not to notice his cool disregard, his facade of stone and ice, his cruel demands, the hardness of his hands in the dark... you only allowed yourself the indulgence you so desired, and left it at that.   
  


That's exactly what made that night so strange.   
  


You'd nearly died, that day. Got yourself caught in a primitive trap, outside the ghost town of Snowdin. Sans usually paid little attention to your activities, while he watched over his daughter and brother in their play; they were far more important, in his mind, and you knew that. In effect, you were generally left to your own devices, and you didn't mind that in the least, the extra time handy for foraging and looking for supplies.   
  


You took a path you never had before, in your wanderings. A winding trail through a copse of icicle laden trees near the electrified fence surrounding the village. You'd found an abandoned shack, nearly stripped but for a box of canned food, stowed under a moth eaten, dust covered bed. You'd felt a burst of joy, imagining the happiness your housemates would get out of the untainted supplies. You'd even danced, unable to contain yourself.   
  


Your victory had been short lived, though. You hadn't been the only one in the shack, and your celebration hadn't gone unnoticed.   
  


A birdlike horror had fallen from the rafters and would have gauged your eyes out with it's razor claws, had you not raised your arm and taken the blow there. You had your own weapon, a long handled knife Aliza had crafted for you out of bone (it had sparked with purple magic in your shaking fist, almost seeming keener), but the last thing on your mind had been fighting back.   
  


You had grabbed up your spoils in your uninjured arm, and made a break for it, the confused monster hot on your heels.   
  


You supposed your were grateful, in part, for the trap that had dragged you up into the towering birch, jerking you away from the path and nearly pulling your good arm out of place; it had taken you out of the flightless bird's clutches, and even managed to secure your canned goods, though their proximity, and the coolness of the metal, in the confines of the net were less than ideal.   
  


What was less than ideal was the predator that had been drawn by the bird's ruckus, as it cawed and jumped at you high above. The diminutive, thin creature hadn't stood a chance, to the dog monster's ferocity and tenacity, and had been torn to shreds in moments, consumed even as it screamed wordlessly into the wintry air.   
  


Another small point in your favor was the bloodied handkerchief tied around the canine's eyes (or, you found yourself musing, the lack of them), as it finished it's macabre meal and sniffed about the crimson stained snow for anything it had missed; it seemed to be blind, and thus seemed not to notice your presence above in the least, as you clutched a hand to your lips and held your breath and begged for the beast to take it's leave.   
  


And it would have, too, had your injured arm not betrayed you; a thick drop of blood had leaked from the long, deep scratches in your forearm, and had fallen square on the dog monster's head.   
  


It had been more than aware of you after that, directing it's sightless gaze above, to where the net swung; it had bared its fangs, growling and grimacing in what could only be savage pleasure, and had howled, it's call ringing through the trees piercingly and chillingly.   
  


You didn't want to know who, or what, it was calling to. You could only thank it's ignorance of Sans' closeness, and the skeleton's quickness in coming to your rescue.   
  


The way he had glanced your way, swinging above the battlefield in your makeshift, woven prison, told you that you were the last thing he'd wanted to see on his arrival. He'd bared his fangs at the dog monster, snarling right back at the foaming beast, and from thin air pulled his bone axe, the only light within his skull the golden glow of his mutated, twisted magic, the orb of cracked, yellowed sorcery that haunted every nightmare you'd had in the Underground.   
  


“ **_not this one_ ** ,” he'd growled, black, clotted magic spilling from his shattered socket and between his gritted teeth, and sprung at the slavering dog monster without warning or hesitation.   
  


You'd never seen him kill before. You knew he had, how he fed his family when there was nothing else to feed them... how he defended the last things he had left in the world, without mercy or qualm. But his ferocity... his absolute ruthlessness... it made you quail, and the sheer quickness that he disposed of the dog with, the utter brutality he brought down on the beast...   
  


You'd have been sick to your stomach, if there had been anything in it. You had covered your ears and closed your eyes the moment the first blow had fallen, the sickening slice of flesh from bone turning you more than green, and each whimper the monster let out, each hellish shriek gurgled between bloody lips as your “savior” commenced his dastardly work, only sicked you more.   
  


It was only when the net had shaken, the tree it hung from creaking, that you opened your eyes, the rope slowly unravelling from above as you had been lowered to the ground. Sans had stood at the base of the tree, lowering you carefully with a set, blood splattered face (his clothes were far worse, and you tried not to look too long at the limbs and strips of flesh piled in the snow, the heaving, skinned to the bone carcass whimpering and twitching only feet from it), and the moment the net touched the forest floor he'd pounced on it, stripping the ropes from you and seizing your chin in hand.   
  


His gaze had been crazed and furious, and his grip so strong your jaw had ached.   
  


“ **_go home, NOW. don't stop anywhere. don't be seen. go_ ** .”   
  


You'd been sure he had finally had enough of you. That you'd put his life in danger over the cans you'd scrambled to pick up, tears in your eyes and fear in your heart. Your wound still bled freely, dipping to the snow in your path and sending aches through your entire arm and into your shoulder; your gait was staggering, in your fearful distraction, but you avoided the section of path that Aliza and Papyrus lingered on obediently, and let yourself into the barricaded village, and trapped house, soon afterwards.   
  


You heard them all return hours later, heard Aliza and Papyrus discover the cans you'd brought home, set on the kitchen table... heard them wonder after your presence.   
  


“they're not feelin' well. went to bed early.”   
  


You wondered just how unwell you were feeling. If your “illness” would end with your life expiring, only more fuel to assist the little, broken family.   
  


You hadn't thought he would come to sate himself in you that night, with the anger you had seen in his shattered visage. You'd expected to see him next when he came for your life. You'd wept, and clutched the little charm bracelet your mother had given you so long ago, tarnished and worn with time, and wondered if he would be kind, and kill you quickly.   
  


Remembering his vicious dispatch of the dog monster, you somehow doubted it.   
  


And yet, long into the night, long after you'd given up attempting to sleep, your door creaked open, and closed again. The floorboards of the chill guest room creaked under the weight of foot, and the springs of your mattress groaned in protest of added encumbrance.   
  


You thought to feint sleep, for a moment... but knew he knew the difference. So you turned, and looked to where he watched you in the dark, lit only by the single bedside lamp, set on the rough hewn side table. It gave him an eerie lighting, eerier than even his actual appearance, but, in rare occurrence, his hood was lowered, and in his unbroken socket lingered an orb of cobalt blue, lending to him an almost... serene aura.   
  


It was the most sane you'd ever seen him look, and he was directing his gaze... at you.   
  


“still awake. good. was hopin' you would be,” he murmured, the gravel of his voice softer and lower than you'd ever anticipated, and reached out to lift your tender, bandaged arm, inspecting your wrappings with a clinical, if metaphorical eye. You winced at his touch, the pain seemingly only worse, and he immediately set your arm back down, fishing into his jacket pocket for a small white bottle...   
  


Aspirin?   
  


Sans popped the cap and pressed three tablets into your palm, and nodded at the glass of water sitting next to your bed. Had he brought it? It hadn't been there before... you obeyed his wordless direction despite your confusion, then settled again against your sagging pillow, watching the monster warily.   
  


Why was he here? What was he doing?   
  


The pills worked almost magically fast, settling the jolts of pain in your arm to a dull, manageable ache quickly within moments, and when you flexed your fingers, staring at them in surprise, the skeletal monster quirked a half smile, standing and shedding his jacket (it was no longer stained with gore; Aliza must have made him wash it) at the same moment as he kicked off his shoes.   
  


“wasn't sure those would still work; expired about... fifteen years ago. glad they did. got something else that ought to help too,” he whispered, tossing his shirt as well (straight to business then, as usual...), then waved you up, indicating you stand.   
  


You were mystified again when, instead of moving to tear your clothes from you, or even insisting you take them off for him, he took care in helping you undress, gentle with your injured arm and resisting in groping at you. Not only that, but once you were bare before him, he didn't push you towards the bed, bend you over the edge... he laid down on top of the rumbled, faded covers himself, and looked at you expectantly, patting his bare, cracked ribcage indicatively.   
  


“c'mon. hop up.”   
  


You couldn't help but stare, your lips parted in evidence of your confusion. He hadn't even taken off his shorts, saying nothing of the indication that he wanted you to... straddle his face.   
  


Sans had never fucked you in a position that he could see your face in, much less made an effort to please you singularly. Maybe he liked the power of holding you down, taking what he wanted, the only real control he had in this world. You suspected it was for a more personal reason, though... that he could imagine it was her, instead of you, when he screwed you senseless and spilled his magic across your skin.   
  


Something was different. Something strange was going on, especially after the day you two had had. You squinted at him, wavering on your bare feet and swaying in the chill air. You could feel the warmth of interest building in your abdomen, decorating the insides of your thighs... but you needed answers first.   
  


Maybe this was a dream. It was a surprisingly pleasant, if unlikely, one if so.   
  


“I don't understand,” you admitted, your uninjured hand clinging to your opposite upper arm, and Sans looked back at you with blasé indifference.    
  


“what's there to get. pretty simple,” he insisted, shrugging one shoulder and, almost in an afterthought, scooting further over in the bed to give you the room your legs would need on either side of his face, and you flushed, shaking your head and pushing away the desire you had to hide in the sway of your hair.   
  


“No, no. Um. You don't... you've never...” you stuttered, waving your aching hand towards the bed, and his position reclined on it, and he let out a quiet huff in response.   
  


“got tired of the same stuff. haven't you? new ain't bad... and you can't exactly take a hard fuck with your arm like that,” he pointed out, nodding at your limp arm and knowingly raising a brow at the wince you had barely withheld, and you fumbled, looking away from him and feeling yourself shrink.   
  


You really didn't want to bring this up, but...   
  


“But I... aren't you angry with me?” you pressed, biting at your lower lip, and Sans, from his repose, shrugged again, reaching up to fold his arms behind his skull.   
  


“pissed. that mean we can't do this? not in the mood?” he reasoned, though a glint in his socket, and the irony in the tilt of his bony lips, made you more than aware that he could smell your desire, and you scrambled to correct him, the infernal craving you had for company (for him...) burning to life on the tip of your tongue, in your veins... between your soaked thighs.   
  


“N-no! I mean- ...I want to. I just...” you stumbled, your breath coming more quickly and your doubts pressing at you (it couldn't be this simple... it couldn't be...), and he cast you a flat look, lifting his hand to, again, pat his sternum.   
  


“then stop thinking about it. i'm not trying to trick you,” he insisted, and you swayed forward on the balls of your feet, tempted beyond reason. Despite his razor sharp fangs, you'd always wondered... what his tongue would feel like... your knees trembled, your mind hazing with your growing want.   
  


Gods you hoped you wouldn't regret this.    
  


“O-okay...” you mumbled, giving over to his pressure at last, and tripped over your own feet in your attempt to go to his side, falling against the side of the bed and drawing a chuckle from the reposed monster. You flushed, hurriedly brushing a lock of hair that had fallen into your face behind your ear, before clambering onto the bed and, after a cursory look about his form to try to plan your route, carefully mounting his shoulders, your hands resting on the wall above the mattress and your thighs spread wide around his cervical vertebrae.   
  


Sans looked up to meet your gaze, cocking a bony brow, then rolled the orb in his socket and raised his hands to grasp at your ass, pulling your hips forward so they rested squarely above his face.   
  


Your breath hitched, at the same time as you felt him exhale against you... and with a burst of bright blue magic, the skeleton raised his head, parted his jaw, and licked.   
  


You'd never been in this sort of position before. He was far from your first, and you'd had plenty of experiences, both good and bad (your last boyfriend had left more than a little to be desired), but your oral expertise, beyond giving, was severely limited, and not very positive.   
  


So not surprisingly, your wildest imaginings of his lithe, inhuman tongue and how it would feel against your heated flesh had been severely limited, and the reality of it... the slide of ectoplasm and scorching heat and the spark of magic over your folds, lapping up the gathering of your juices and spreading you around the slithering girth of him, sent a rapturous shudder through your body, saying nothing of the pleasured keen that escaped you, your hands flying to your lips and your legs, on either side of his skull, trembling helplessly.   
  


You could practically feel his smirk against your arousal soaked folds, his hands squeezing their fleshy prize and spreading you for him further; his tongue undulated against you, gliding along the entrance of your core and teasing your clit, and your eyes rolled in your head, your eyelids fluttering and your teeth pulling at your lower lip. Your hands traced down your throat, your skin tingling with every stroke, to cup your breasts, easily giving over to the desire, the direction of his hands, to move your hips.   
  


The slide of his tongue, thicker and thicker the deeper he went, into your core only facilitated this, and it was all you could do not the collapse onto his face.   
  


You could feel the press of his fangs against the insides of your thighs as you ground against him, as you rode the twisting, pushing and pulling length of his tongue, could feel the furnace of his breath, the dig of his claws into your backside... but you only felt yourself descend further into carnal madness at the realization of them, of the acknowledgment of the danger you were in.   
  


How easy it would be for him to hurt you, yet he chose to give you such intense pleasure instead.   
  


“S-sans... gods, Sans...” you wailed plaintively, starting to drag the fingertips of one hand down your abdomen to push yourself further into bliss (you could feel the end he was building within you, the press and curl of his tongue inside you, the thick base undulating against the very base of your clit almost teasingly), but he raised a hand to seize yours, pushing it back up towards your breasts wordlessly with a glare.   
  


He wanted to do that for you, that much was clear.   
  


You panted helplessly, bouncing your hips against him and whimpering in want, and with another obvious grin, shifted against your trembling flesh, he slowly withdrew his tongue from within you, torturous in his teasing, before circling the length of him again against your swollen, sensitive clit, the hand that had swatted yours away sinking between your thighs and sliding one, two... three phalanges knuckle deep into you, thrusting insistently against a spot within you that made you see the stars.   
  


Your breath fluttered in your chest. Your abdomen clenched. Your hands lowered to clutch at the cracked dome of his skull, helpless and craven and close- it was so close, you couldn't believe it was so quick-   
  


And the release. Ecstasy itself, bright white and tinged with the sparkling of light through shuttered lids, your voice above all, lifted with pleasure and completion; below you, Sans was relentless, driving your orgasm further with the plunge of his fingers, the dance of his tongue against you, yet even as you teetered on the edge yet again, the heat rising once more in an operatic high, you wanted more.   
  


You pulled away, despite his grasp on your hip, and scooted down his body on tremulous knees, down to the cradle of his pelvis, where the evidence of his own interest lay.   
  


The expression on his face betrayed his own desire. He made no move to stop you this time, when you ground your twitching folds against him through his shorts, soaking the material and delighting in the twitch and pulse of the magic within; he only grunted, jaw tight and gaze bright, when you freed him from the elastic band and sank yourself onto his cock with a quickness that belied your own reckless hunger.   
  


This was no time for teasing. This was the time for lust, and the culmination of need.   
  


You rode him like you had never ridden a man before, breathless in your flagging and yet rebuilding climax, delirious from the stretch of him within you... enraptured, at the press of his hands to your thighs, your bouncing breasts... your clit again, as he bucked and jerked and gasped for his own breath, desperate to drag you down with him.   
  


You came first, only kept from shrieking in pleasure by the hand across your mouth, but he wasn't close behind, pumping thick, searing hot magic into you and letting out a long, hissing groan of his own.   
  


He allowed you to linger a moment, after the flames of your mutual passions had died, before gently pulling you from his length and pushing you slowly onto your side beside him. He stood up a moment later, fixing his shorts and throwing your covers over your bare body.   
  


He redressed in near silence, while you watched him from under tired, amorous lids, breath still heavy and heart still pounding and thighs pressing together, to delay the escape of his seed from within you. He sent you a glance, as he slid his shoes back on and sat on the edge of the bed to tie them, and reached out to adjust the blanket on your shoulder.   
  


“...hey. be more careful with your life next time. ...aliza wouldn't forgive me if i let you die. so just try to remember that someone really cares about you,” he muttered, pulling, one handed, the golden locket out from beneath his t-shirt, then stood to exit the room, blending back into the shadows as though he were truly one with them.   
  


Not... really the end you'd been hoping for, but as you turned onto your back, running your injured hand over your abdomen in fond memory, you couldn't help but smile. And as you drifted off to sleep, something stuck out in your mind, perhaps a wishful whim, but perhaps not...   
  


You couldn't seem to remember him taking the locket off.   


* * *

Sans, in the darkness of the deteriorated, deserted upstairs hall, leaned against the outside of the door he had just left, staring down at the golden locket in his palm. It was warm, warmer than he was ever able to make it. He knew why, and yet... somehow... he couldn't seem to regret it.   
  


 

He clenched his fingers around the locket, shaking his head and pushing away from the door.   
  


“...still means nothing, frisky. promise.”   
  


The filthy, cursed word weighed heavy on his tongue and conscience, but he ignored it and the lingering pleasure of his tryst the same, and turned on his heel to descend the staircase and let himself outside.   
  


There was work to do, and meat to prepare. Doggo was lean, but there had been plenty of him, and would last them a long, long time.

* * *

 


End file.
